


the undisclosed desires in your heart

by pridesenn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alcoholic Charles, Altered canon, Because of Reasons, Charles is not in a wheelchair, Dealing with Emotions, Getting Together, I hope, I'll add more as I go, M/M, Post Beach Divorce, because let's be real he was a mess after erik left
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridesenn/pseuds/pridesenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik preferred to think of himself as a distant person. He didn't like feelings and the mess said feelings most of the time caused, or the emotional trouble and drama related to it. It was pointless and irritating. But maybe he could try to make an exception out of Charles.</p><p>// on a break because school and stuff</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chance encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend who is, in many ways, the Charles to my Erik (except with less fighting). She came up with the plot, or at least the draft of it, and now i'm writing because why not. So anyway, this is dedicated to her, love you and thanks for putting up with me.
> 
> Also i have no clue how often i'll be updating but i'm a procrastinator at heart so don't expect too much. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine and English is not my first language (oh the excuses -- i'm also just a lazy proof reader). Rated for language i guess? idk what will happen in the future.
> 
> Title taken from the Muse song 'Undisclosed Desires'.

**-.::.-**

Erik preferred to think of himself as a distant person. He didn't like  _feelings_ and the mess said feelings most of the time caused, or the emotional trouble and drama related to it. It was pointless and irritating, and so after his mother died Erik did his best to avoid any kind of affections. This had worked well. He'd concentrated on catching Shawn and that only, leaving no space for attachments. Erik figured he'd find someone after everything was over, if he wanted. If not, he'd be alone. That suit him well.

But now, well. Now it was all fucked up. Because of one Charles Xavier. Erik watched the coin roll over in the air in front of him, and sighed. He didn't understand what had happened,  _how_ it had happened. He didn't like feelings and he most definitely didn't like friends. But then Charles had happened, and suddenly he was left with a hollow feeling of missing someone. Erik hadn't missed anyone in years. The coin dropped to the table with a soft  _thud_.

Raven glanced up from where she was sitting, not far from Erik, and raised one brow. Erik didn't answer the unasked question in her eyes, his gaze fixed on the coin and his mouth pressed into a thin line. Apparently, Raven didn't catch the hint.

"Are you still thinking about Charles?" She asked, and if there was any hidden emotion behind her voice Erik missed it.

"No," he lied and stood up. A walk outside would be good – it would, at least, help him clear his head of unnecessary thoughts. (And Charles was exactly that, an unnecessary thought.) Raven looked like she wanted to question him further, but before she got the chance Erik walked past her and left the building.

It was raining softly, but not enough to bother Erik so much he'd go back to get an umbrella. He walked down the street from where they were currently located – a small apartment while they built something better – with his hands in his pockets and shoulders drawn up.  _Grumpy old man_ , a voice that absolutely did not sound like Charles teased him in his head. Erik promptly ignored this and continued strolling through the drizzle.

The rain became heavier, and eventually Erik gave up trying to ignore it and walked to the nearest open bar. The warmth was welcoming, but for some reason Erik didn't feel any more relaxed than before. It was by all means a perfectly normal bar; there was chattering, and drunken laughter, and someone playing darts in the corner. Erik didn't understand what was so out of place as he walked to the corner, sitting down and ordering a beer.

It was then when he realized what it was, scanning the place with his eyes.

There, in middle of the crowd, Erik recognized a familiar mop of brown hair. He was thinner than before, and his hair was longer and messier, and there were dark circles under his eyes. But Erik was still, undoubtedly, staring at Charles. He wasn't looking back, but with his powers Erik didn't think he could've missed Erik coming in. A waiter brought his beer and Erik suddenly felt like being an alcoholic didn't sound so bad after all. He let his eyes wander away from Charles and to the small gang of people standing a few feet from the telepath and glancing at him darkly every minute or so. Because of course, if Erik ran into Charles he also ran into trouble. Erik absently wondered if he should leave and let Charles deal with his own problems. It was none of Erik's business anymore, anyway.

But before he could, one of the men from the group and efficiently cleared a scene for them by shooting the roof. People scattered around in panic, all but Charles, and soon Erik found himself on the corner alone with a direct route to where Charles was. Well then.

"We heard you were gonna be 'ere tonight," the gunman said and took a few steps towards Charles while the rest of the group trailed behind. "And here you are. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

"Quite," Charles echoed with a dry smile and Erik had no idea how he could look so calm with a gun pointed at him. Then again, Charles was the definition of  _calm_.

"Now, this won't be a problem if you co-operate with us. If you don't, well. I think you know what happens," the man – the leader of them, Erik assumed – said and the rest nodded their heads. Charles sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Dylan, my friend, is this absolutely necessary? If this about last week–"

"Don't call me that," Dylan said and narrowed his eyes, the gun now pointing straight at Charles' head. "Don't you fucking call me that. And you bloody know what this is about you fucking freak."

Erik watched the exchange while sipping his beer. He shouldn't. He very, very much shouldn't. Erik saw a metallic chair twitch from the corner of his eye.  _Bloody hell_.

"I think," he began loudly as he stood up from the corner, "that you should probably leave now." Charles caught his eyes, and just as Erik had expected, didn't look the least bit surprised.  _You little shit_ , he thought loudly enough for Charles to hear and then turned his head away when Charles grinned smugly. Dylan looked at him frowning. "What the hell are you still doin' here? Get out, we're in the middle of something," he said and Erik saw the gun drop a few inches lower now that the man wasn't concentrating on Charles.

"I don't think I will," he said and took a couple steps forward. "Since you're holding a gun at my... acquaintance." Because what could he call Charles, anymore? They used to be strangers, then they were friends, then... Well, they weren't strangers, but they weren't nothing either. He saw Charles' smile disappear, but tried to pay no notice to it. Or to the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

" _Acquaintance_ , eh? So you're one of them freaks too, then?" Dylan asked with a chuckle and Erik felt his eye twitch. He reached out for the gun in his mind, feeling the familiar material, ready to pull it for himself if needed. He took another set of steps. "I know what you're referring to, and I don't appreciate your phrasing."

Dylan laughed, a deep hoarse laugh of someone who'd spend the better portion of his life smoking. "I don't give a shit what you appreciate or don't," he said and steadied the gun again. Dylan glanced at Charles who was still standing where he'd been before, hands in his pockets. "You're both the downside of humanity," he said while looking between Erik and Charles. "Fucking mutant scum."

A lot happened at the same time, then. Erik pulled the gun to himself, Dylan lurched towards Charles and then fell short when Charles stopped him, and Erik held the rest of Dylan's group in place with the gun now pointing at them, floating in the air. Charles smiled, not the soft smile Erik had often seen but a rather malice one. "My, how the tables turn. Now, Dylan, I've told you this before," he said and at the same time send a thought to Erik.  _Don't shoot them_. Erik narrowed his eyes, the trigger pressing down the slightest bit.  _We'll see_.

Charles shot him an annoyed look before returning his gaze to Dylan who was still stuck in place, muttering curses and empty threats. "As I've told you before," he continued, "I think we should just forget the whole thing. Do you think you could just put this behind you?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? No, I don't think I can ' _put this behind me_ , are you bloody stupid?" Dylan spat out, looking at Charles like he'd just announced he was the queen of England. Erik took a deep breath, stubbornly keeping his eyes fixed on Dylan's group. Charles could handle himself, he knew that. He shouldn't worry, because Erik Lehnsherr didn't  _worry_ , especially not about his  _acquaintances_.

"Then, my friend, I have bad news for you," Charles said and Erik felt himself twitch at the word  _friend_ , unnecessary feelings floating in his mind. He hoped Charles was too preoccupied to notice anything. "You see, tomorrow the police will find you on the alley over there, behind this bar. And they will think, 'how can someone look  _so horrendous'_ , and you know what? They will ask you that, too. And you can't tell them, because you won't be able to remember  _anything_. You won't know your own  _name_. You won't know how your fingers are all mysteriously broken." Charles paused and Erik frowned.  _What the hell happened to you?_ , he thought because this wasn't the Charles Xavier he knew. This was far from the peaceful man he remembered. Erik jolted slightly when he heard Charles answer in his head, bitterly.  _I was shot_. Again Erik ignored the pang of guilt he felt.

"So now do you think you can put this behind you?" Charles asked Dylan. "I... I don't–" the other man started, but Charles interrupted him. "That's a 'no', then. Well, I quite think we're done here." Erik turned his head towards them just as Dylan fell to the floor, and watched as Charles stepped over his unconscious form. He didn't look at Erik, though, but at the small gang left standing. "I have my reasons to believe that you won't tell anyone what happened here today, will you?" Charles asked and as an answer the men stumbled out, the door left swinging after them slowly.

Erik was now alone with Charles, who turned to face him. The cold mask fell off and revealed a very tired, very weary man that had little resemblance with the Charles Erik had known only a few months ago. Up close, Erik saw just how different he looked now. The longer hair made him seem younger and older at the same time, and Erik could've bet he'd spend weeks drinking. At least, he still smelled faintly of vodka. The circles under his eyes told a story of sleepless nights (Erik wouldn't admit that it made him back to all the nights he'd stayed up, too). He leaned forward a bit, as if his back was hurt, and–  _oh._  Erik decided looking at Charles' face was a safer option after all.

Charles offered Erik a small smile. "I can take care of the rest," he said and Erik let the gun float down to the floor next to Dylan now. "Are you sure?" Charles nodded, and looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he just closed his mouth and stayed quiet. Erik took this as a sign for him to leave; he'd done too much already.

So he walked away, not turning to look back at Charles left at the bar. He'd gotten down the block when he heard the familiar voice in his head, again.  _Thank you_ , Charles said softly and Erik would be lying if he said he didn't feel a slight tug at his heart.

Feelings, he decided, were pointless. But maybe he could try to make an exception out of Charles.

**-.::.-**


	2. another bottle down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - this will probably be on a three week break because I'm gonna be in Spain (not like it hasn't been now just because i'm lazy but). But regardless, hope you enjoy! / All mistakes are mine and it's 3:30 am as i'm proof-reading this so yes, please point out any and all mistakes and i'll fix them at some point, thank you.
> 
> (Also wink wink nudge nudge comments don't only boost my ego, they also help me figure out if what i'm writing is what y'all want to read or not so they really do help k bye.)

**-.::.-**

Charles didn't think he had an alcohol problem.  _Maybe_ he had a glass or fifteen every now and then. Some days. Every day. But he had a lot of stress, too, so it was probably acceptable. (At least, he thought it was acceptable and he didn't ask anyone else's opinion. Well, he didn't ask, but they told him anyway). Charles was running a school full of mutants, after all, and besides – he was almost paralyzed. Or that was what Hank had told him after running tests and making Charles walk around in a circle for ten minutes to make sure that his spine wasn't too messed up. ( _'You're lucky the bullet didn't go an inch to the right or your legs would be gone_ ,' he'd said while eyeing some papers with a frown.  _'Also, I think you won't be running for a while. And your blood sugar levels are too low.'_ ). So, lots of stress and worries. He was entitled to a drink.

Charles sighed, leaning his elbows against the desk and resting his chin on his palms. The whiskey bottle he'd been having a staring contest with for the past half an hour was winning. His eyes darted to the empty glass next to the bottle.  _It doesn't even have to be half a glass_ , he thought convincingly.  _Just to take the edge off_. Then again he'd been 'taking the edge off' for weeks already, ever since they'd come back from Cuba. Not that he'd been counting the days, or anything.

The door to his study opened with a soft creak, and Charles glanced up quickly to see Hank standing in the doorway before returning his gaze to the bottle. A silence stretched on until Charles sighed, looking up again. "What is it?" Apparently Hank took this as ' _please, do come in_ ', and walked in, closing the door behind him almost fully but leaving a small space, and sat opposite of Charles with a frown. Hank frowned a lot, now a days. More than before, and that said a lot. Charles' eyes fixated on the stack of papers Hank was holding, but apparently they had nothing to do with him because the next second they disappeared to the sea of documents already covering the floor. "It's Wednesday," Hank said, "and you've drank more than you did in last month alone." His voice was disappointed. Charles eyed him for a moment, and then instead of answering picked the whiskey bottle up and poured himself a drink. "Your point being?" He mumbled quietly and watched the amber liquor swirl around in the glass that was filled a bit over 'just half a glass'. Hank sighed. "My point? You're gonna die from an alcohol poisoning. And I can't run this school on my own."

Charles took a sip, blinking slowly. Maybe Hank had a point. Hank was usually right about these kinds of things, after all. But then Erik's face swam into his mind and being a dead drunk sounded like a nice idea again. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, and Charles wasn't sure if it was because of the whiskey or not. He looked up at Hank, tilting his head. "Well, I think you'd be more than capable of–"

"No, Charles, I couldn't do that," Hank interrupted. He eyed the glass for a while before reaching closer and snatching it away. Charles raised an eyebrow, but didn't try to get it back, leaning against his seat with a frown. He had more glasses, and if he didn't he could buy more. Now that he thought about it, Hank had probably confiscated approximately over half of his collection. The other man had slowly become his babysitter, one he  _didn't need_ , thank you very much, and Charles realized this was probably kind of bad. "Do you want to talk about it?" Hank asked while putting the glass to the floor. When he leaned back up Charles was looking at him. "Talk about what?" He replied, because even he was allowed to play dumb every once in a while.

"Whatever happened, because something clearly did. You're back to looking like a homeless drunk, Charles, and I'm worried," Hank said and Charles felt his left eye twitch. He didn't look  _homeless_ , did he? Yes, he should cut his hair that was getting too long, and yes he was wearing the same cardigan for the third day in a row. But  _homeless_? Hardly.

Charles half shrugged, looking down at his hands that now rested on the table, fingers loosely crossed. The thought of Erik floated back with the same uncomfortable feeling, and Charles felt the sudden urge to down the whole whiskey bottle. Maybe with a couple of painkillers, because his back was hurting again. Hank had promised that the pain would subside in a few months, but it didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Said man was looking at him worriedly now, and Charles wondered if he really should talk about it. But then again – talk about what? He'd met Erik by a chance, they'd talked, Erik had left, Charles had gotten horrendously drunk. No grand story behind that.

Of course, though, there were things he knew were hidden under the front layer, deep inside, but he didn't want to talk about those things. Or even  _think_ about those things. Because Charles was willing to ignore his said thoughts for the sake of being able to sleep well at night. (He wasn't sleeping well at night, but it was nice to think so).

"I mean," he began slowly, "I might've ran into someone. But it's nothing to worry about, really. I'll get over it."  _Probably_ , he added in his head. Hank raised his eyebrows, looking intrigued and confused like it was a miracle Charles had even been outside long enough to run into someone. Which, granted, might've lately been considered a miracle by some people. Those people including Charles himself.

"Someone?" Hank asked carefully, like he was walking on thin ice that might brake at any moment. Charles felt a twist in his stomach – did he really seem  _that_ fragile that people had to tiptoe around him? He sighed, resigning to his fate already. "An old friend of sort," he explained and watched as Hank's face went from mildly confused, to terrified, to upset, to worried and confused again. "You mean Erik, don't you?" He asked and Charles nodded because there was no point in denying it. Charles didn't know how to continue without touching the subject of avoided feelings, and so a heavy silence fell between them. Finally Hank picked Charles' glass back from the floor and handed it over, and Charles downed the rest of the whiskey in one sip. The familiar burning in his throat made him feel better, which was most likely another sign that Charles was, indeed, having an alcohol problem. He ignored it.

"I'm sorry," Hank mumbled after a while. "About... well. Do you want to talk about it or...?"

Charles placed the glass on the desk, closing his eyes.  _Acquaintance_. He word made him feel sick. Was that really all Charles was to Erik, now? He didn't think they'd be friends, not after everything, but  _acquaintances_? He opened his eyes with a sigh. "I'd rather not," he said and Hank nodded and stood up, picking up some papers from the floor on the way to the door. "Just, if you ever want to– I mean, I don't mean to pressure you but if you..." Hank licked his lips and looked down, other hand holding the papers and the other shoved into his pocket. "I'm here if you need to talk. About anything," he finished and pushed the door open with his shoulder, walking out after a small smile towards Charles.

Charles watched the door close with a soft  _thud_  before reaching for the bottle again. "I have problems," he mumbled out loud to the empty room. He pulled open one drawer, staring at the chess board dully for a moment before pushing the drawer back in.

**-.::.-**


End file.
